


Proof

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: Joe's Son by Mona Ramsey [5]
Category: Highlander: The Series, The Sentinel
Genre: Crossovers: Highlander, Drama, First Times, M/M, Multiple Partners, Partner Betrayal, Series: Joes Son, crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-08-28
Updated: 2000-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months have passed, and when Duncan MacLeod arrives in Cascade, Jim Ellison finds himself in an unfamiliar situation.<br/>This story is a sequel to You Don't Know Me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof

 

## Proof

by Mona Ramsey

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/monaram/>

* * *

"Proof"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com

The phone was answered on the fourth ring. "Hello."

"Hi," Jim Ellison said, but didn't have a chance to say anything else, before he heard:

"You've reached 555-1234, but you haven't reached me. I'm either in the shower or in another country, so leave a message at the beep."

"Damn," Jim said, just as the answering machine's tone sounded. "Uh - it's me, Jim. Ellison," he added, nonsensically. "Give me a call when you get this, okay? There's no emergency, I just wanted - to talk to you. Okay. 'Bye." He hung up and looked at the phone resting in its cradle, as if it were somehow to the blame for his sudden spot-on blithering idiot impersonation. "Great."

He'd waited the three months he and Duncan had agreed upon. Three months and three days, to be exact, just so he didn't look too anxious. Or desperate. Or any of the other things that he was starting to _feel_. And now Duncan was away - and fate wouldn't be kind enough for him to just be out; he'd have to be in another country, like the message said.

He thought, for about half a second, about calling Joe Dawson, Duncan's Watcher, and finding out just which country Duncan might be in - or, at the least, which continent - before realizing that some sort of weird sexual etiquette demanded that one did _not_ phone one's former lover's father for information on one's anticipated, possibly-future lover. Factor in Joe's friendship/obligatory relationship with Duncan, and everything got even more weird and incestuous and uncomfortable than it already was, which was no mean feat.

Not too uncomfortable for him to stop wondering where Duncan was, though, and when he might next pick up his messages. It hadn't been three months since they'd spoken; they'd played phone tag and actually occasionally reached each other over the past thirteen and a half weeks, after figuring out that late-night phone calls were the best opportunity to talk in person and not via answering machine. The conversations had been both neutrally friendly and then mildly flirtatious, without any explicitly sexual innuendo. It was more like two people getting to know one another - which was what they had been doing, of course. They discovered a few common interests and tried really hard not to talk about Blair and Methos - tried so hard, in fact, that when they finally _did_ wind up talking about them, during a marathon two-hour phone call, a lot of hurtful and possibly unforgivable things were said - and then forgiven a few days later. It was a needed catharsis, but it didn't necessarily make things any easier, which was what Jim suspected he was really waiting to happen.

The loft still haunted him in a lot of ways. Blair was everywhere, even beyond the grocery-store cartons that held his personal effects, taped up and labeled neatly, waiting for somewhere to go. Naomi had made a half-hearted offer to take them off Jim's hands, but she didn't have any real space to call her own at the moment, and sentimentality kept him from just tossing the stuff in the garbage. There were a lot of school papers and books, Sentinel tests and bits and pieces of Blair's failed dissertation, and the truth was that it was just easier to keep it all for when Blair came back to Cascade than to get rid of it.

He had never stopped believing that Blair _would_ come back to Cascade, but what that might mean to him had shifted, somewhat. He stopped listening hard for Blair's tread in the hallway and the rattle of his key in the door; the scent of his shampoo and his sticks-and-twigs herbal teas had faded after a while. Organic food rotted away in the refrigerator until Jim couldn't stand it anymore and cleaned the place to within an inch of its life; the canned stuff he couldn't or wouldn't eat he boxed up and handed over to a soup kitchen/food bank, which seemed puzzled by the odd array of food he offered, but nevertheless grateful. Slowly, almost without realizing it, he was reclaiming the space that had been his, then theirs, and now his again. It was startling to realize just how transitory tragedy really was, but it was true. Nothing lasted forever, not even grief.

And now it was three and a half months since Blair had left. In a lot of ways, it felt too soon to be thinking about anything else _but_ Blair leaving, but in more ways, he wondered where Duncan was, and what he was doing - and if he was all right.

Work was work; he'd thrown himself into it with abandon when Blair was first gone, but now he and Cassie and Simon had gotten into a semblance of normality again - although Jim swore that the two of them bit back more than their share of "Sandburg"s in the past few weeks. Telling them it didn't hurt didn't help, because they both knew him too well to believe such an obvious lie. If either one of them had heard from Blair, Jim really didn't know; he told himself that he didn't care, but he knew himself too well to buy that, too.

He called Duncan the next day, and then again the next, and there was still no answer, still the same message on the machine and no return phone call. Wherever Duncan was, it was either very out-of-the-way or he was making it that way; there were women in his past that Jim remembered Joe and Richie making occasional reference to, and it was entirely possible that nothing was wrong and he was with one of _them_ , but something that made the hair prickle on the back of Jim's neck didn't really believe that, and he found himself in a familiar pattern of worry - forget and go on as normal, then suddenly remember and go silent for a few moments.

And then Duncan showed up in Cascade.

* * *

did I ever tell you how you live in me  
every waking moment, even in my dreams  
and if all this talk is crazy  
and you don't know what I mean  
does it really matter  
just as long as I believe

* * *

He and Simon had gone out for a late lunch mid-afternoon - payment for a friendly wager on the last Jags game - and when they returned to the squad room, they found Cassie and a few other female officers in an entranced conversation with a dark-haired Scot who was sitting at Jim's desk. 'Scot' he picked up across the room, via the very slight accent Duncan imbued his flirtatious voice with, and it made Jim smile, and remember how Methos used to grumble in a very obvious way about Duncan's flirting with every available member of the opposite - and same, a lot of the time - sex.

Duncan turned around suddenly, and Jim found himself smiling even more broadly, and Cassie's left eyebrow rose ever-so-slightly, and Simon went quiet. For a second, anyway.

"Friend of yours?" he asked, gruffly, in a proprietary tone.

Jim had to stop himself from laughing out loud. He'd forgotten to mention to Duncan that he might expect the third degree from Jim's own personal protection squad should he ever come to Cascade, and now it was too late to warn him of what he was in for.

Duncan seemed to pick up on this, anyway, and stood and extended his hand to Simon. "You must be Simon Banks," he said, accent still intact but now low and soothing and non-threatening, like vanilla cream. "Jim's talked a lot about you."

Simon glanced grumpily at Jim. "Oh, he has, has he?"

"Only very good things," Duncan said, with a grin at Jim. "He thinks very highly of you. You're one of his best friends, from what I understand."

"Don't tell him that," Jim said. "I don't think a 'friend' would have just ordered the most expensive item on the menu for lunch, knowing that I'm working on a lowly detective's salary."

"A 'lowly detective's salary'?" Simon snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Get him. As a matter of fact, why don't you take him out of here altogether? I'm sick of looking at him."

"It's only three - " Jim started to protest.

"Yeah, and I understand your tactic for getting the department to pay for overtime to supplement your 'lowly salary'," Simon said, "but you keep working seventy-hour weeks and someone's going to call Amnesty International and have the Cascade PD declared a sweatshop." He jerked his head towards the door. "Go on, get out of here. And I don't want to see you back here until Monday."

Jim grinned at him, and then looked at Duncan, wondering if he thought that this all looked like a set-up, like they were being pushed together on purpose, and not very subtly, at that. But Duncan was just looking cool and amused, and like he was waiting for Jim to get his shit together and get out of there. He went to his desk to lock things up and get rid of some files that were lying around, waiting to be put away.

"So, how long are planning on staying Cascade?" Cassie asked.

"That depends," Duncan said.

"On whether or not you like it here?"

Duncan laughed. "On my business. Sometimes I'm called away unexpectedly," he said.

"What is it that you do?"

"I'm in antiques," Duncan said, and grinned as Jim coughed suddenly.

"Sounds fascinating," Cassie said. "I'd like to hear more about it."

"I hope I'm in town long enough to take you up on that," Duncan replied. "Are you about ready?" he called over to Jim, who nodded at him. He took Cassie's hand and brought it to his lips as he said good-bye.

The other female officers who were hovering within earshot looked envious as hell, and Jim had to check another 'coughing' fit, deciding that a sudden attack of laughter was definitely not the sort of impression he was eager to make.

* * *

people never tell you the way they truly feel  
I would die for you gladly  
if I knew it was for real  
so if all this talk sounds crazy  
and the words don't come out right  
does it really matter  
if it gets me through this night

* * *

Duncan had his travel bags still with him, having taken a taxi directly from the airport to the Police station to see Jim. Jim sat somewhat nervously clutching the wheel of his truck, listening to Duncan tell him about the weather in Paris, wondering if he should drive the man to one of Cascade's upscale hotels, or just bite the bullet and invite him to stay at the loft.

Staying at the loft meant something, though; Blair's old room was uninhabitable, filled as it was with homeless boxes, which meant that Duncan would either have to sleep on the couch or in Jim's bed. Absorbed in his thoughts, Jim was unaware that Duncan had stopped speaking until he felt a hand on his arm.

"Jim?"

"What?"

Duncan smiled at him. "I just asked if we were going to sit in the parking lot all afternoon. I mean, this is comfortable, and all, but I think I'd like to see more of Cascade than the ride from here to the airport."

"Right, of course." Jim started the truck, but didn't shift into gear. "Where are we going?"

"If you don't mind going there first, I should probably check into my hotel," Duncan said, looking at his watch. "I told them I'd be there before six. I assume you know where The Arms is?"

"It's downtown," Jim said, with a smile. He could feel himself relax as he pulled out of the lot, some of the pressure of the situation taken off of his shoulders. "I should have known that's where you'd be."

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason - only that it's the nicest place in the city, not to mention the most expensive."

Duncan laughed, and drummed his fingers on the passenger door, just below the window. "My travel agent suggested it, when I called. I suppose all of the flophouses were full." He nodded at the passing scenery. "It's a beautiful city you have here."

"Yes, it is," Jim agreed. He spent the rest of the drive answering Duncan's questions about local landmarks, and pointing out a few on his own. It was funny to realize how nice and normal Cascade really _was_ , when looking through the eyes of a visitor, and not those of a very busy cop, as he usually did. He saw parks and tourist-friendly streets and inviting restaurants, instead of perps and purse-snatchings and the other assorted dregs of society.

Very quickly, they were in front of the hotel. Duncan didn't even attempt to hide his laughter as Jim reluctantly handed over the keys to his battered truck to an unimpressed-looking valet, and followed a bellhop with his bags into the front desk to check in. Jim took a seat in an obscenely comfortable armchair and watched with amusement as a growing number of hotel staff - from the bellhop to the desk clerk to the concierge - did everything short of bow and scrape to Duncan. When he was ready to be taken to his suite - the largest and best in the hotel, from the looks of it - Duncan nodded his head over at Jim to come along.

Jim stood, and the three of them piled into the elevator. The bellhop was regarding him like he was some sort of lowly blue-collar worker, and Jim had to restrain himself from pulling his badge and threatening the little punk kid with a background check. Duncan seemed to sense this, by the suspicious twitching at the corners of his mouth, but he didn't comment on it - at least, not until they were inside the suite and the bellhop had been paid off and eased out the door again.

"I'm surprised he didn't walk out backwards," Jim said, watching Duncan shut the door. "You always get treated like this?"

"Money talks," Duncan shrugged.

"He'd have rolled over and played dead if you waved a fifty at him," Jim said.

"Nah. With that type, it usually takes a hundred," Duncan laughed again, and took off his jacket. He tossed the room keys over to Jim and said, "Why don't you investigate the bar while I clean up?"

Jim caught and Duncan walked into the bedroom. There was a floral arrangement on the bar in the corner, and fruit, and - "They sent champagne. Complements of the management."

"Put it on ice. I'd rather have a scotch, right now," Duncan called out.

"Me, too," Jim said, under his breath, and unlocked the cabinet with its row of gleaming bottles inside. "Straight up?" he asked, and chuckled to himself. Duncan walked out barefoot, with his shirt unbuttoned and a bemused look on his face, and Jim added, "So to speak."

"On the rocks," Duncan said, shaking his head, and disappeared into the bedroom again.

Jim poured drinks and took his over to one of the windows. The view was really excellent from here - across the downtown sector of the city and right over to the waterfront. He wondered where to suggest dinner, glad that he'd restrained himself during lunch with Simon. Maybe a drive down by the water first, and then -

He sensed Duncan behind him in the room, suddenly, aware that his senses were getting a workout lately because of his uncharacteristic lapses into deep thought. Blair would have kicked his butt for getting so slack in his attention, bordering on a zone-out in a non-life-threatening situation like this. He grimaced inwardly at that thought and turned around with a half-frown, half-smile on his face, a furrow all-too-noticeable between his brows. "Hungry?" he asked.

Duncan nodded, close. He still wasn't completely dressed, but before Jim could say anything else, Duncan had his hands on Jim's forearms and was kissing him. The glass still in Jim's hand crushed in between them but remained upright, thankfully. A tongue swiped over Jim's parted lips and just inside, and then it was over.

"I could eat," Duncan said, watching Jim's eyes.

It took Jim a moment to speak. He looked down at the melting ice in his glass, and then up. "What was that?"

"I've been thinking about kissing you again, properly, for thirteen weeks and six days," Duncan said. "It was easier to pretend not to be thinking about it when you weren't right in front of me. I didn't think I could get through dinner tonight without doing something, though." He cocked a wary eyebrow. "I'm prepared to be apologetic, if that's appropriate."

Jim shook his head. "No," he said, a smile in his eyes. "It's okay. Very okay."

"You can't be hungry already," Duncan said, relieved. "And I could really use a shower after the flight, if you don't mind waiting."

"No," Jim said. "I'll have another drink. We can walk down to a restaurant, or take a cab."

"Great," Duncan said. He stripped out of his shirt entirely on his way to the bedroom. "I won't be too long."

"Take your time."

* * *

I will love again  
though my heart is breaking I will love again  
stronger than before  
I will love again  
even if it takes a lifetime to get over you  
heaven only knows, I will love again

* * *

"So, where were you, anyway? Or is that a trade secret?"

Duncan shook his head, and nodded at the waiter who sat glasses of brandy in front of them. "Actually, I was in Canada. Toronto, to be specific."

Jim raised his glass and took a sip. The scotch buzz had mostly worn off during the leisurely walk from the hotel to the restaurant, but the accompanying wine with dinner, and now the brandy afterwards, were combining to make him feel pleasantly warm. "Business, or pleasure?"

"A little bit of both."

"Best kind of trip, then."

"I thought about calling you from there," Duncan admitted. "But, I didn't want to seem too anxious."

"You'd rather I did."

"Something like that," Duncan chuckled.

"I think kissing me back in your hotel room pretty much removed your veneer of nonchalance," Jim pointed out.

"I wasn't going for nonchalance," Duncan said. "I haven't seriously dated anyone in - years. A _lot_ of years," he admitted, as much to himself as to Jim.

"You've been involved with a few people, though."

"I've mostly been involved with people that I've known for years. There was never much, if any, of a courtship period with any of them, not since I first started to see Tessa, and that was - " Duncan thought. "More than fifteen years ago."

"And Methos?" Jim tested it out tentatively, to see if the name hurt, surprised that it didn't - at least, it didn't hurt _him_.

"We were friends, and then all of a sudden we were lovers. There wasn't much of a transition period between the two - at least, not one that could be called 'dating'. There was a woman a couple of years ago," Duncan added, "a doctor, Anne, who I saw for a while. I dated her briefly, but - it just didn't work out between us. It didn't feel right, for a lot of reasons."

"It must be hard to find someone who can deal with your lifestyle."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed. "Well, you must get that, too - being a cop, I mean."

Jim nodded, swirling the brandy around in his glass. "I've casually dated a lot since my divorce," he said, "but other than Blair, I never really found anyone that I thought could be something long-term. I was never comfortable with anyone - not _that_ comfortable, anyway." He set down his glass, and gave a snort. "It was the same way between us," he said, "friends and then lovers and then nothing, with no warning. I guess a lot of things happen that way."

To Jim's surprise, Duncan reached across the table and put a hand on top of one of Jim's. The restaurant was perfect - excellent food, wonderful service, and very quiet after the main dinner rush was over. They'd lingered over dinner, talking about a lot of things and nothing, until now.

"Not everything happens like that," Duncan said.

"Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" Jim asked. When Duncan shook his head in the negative, Jim said, "I'm thinking I'd like you to kiss me again."

"Here?"

Jim shook his head. "No. Not here."

"We should go then," Duncan said, and signalled to the waiter.

Jim finished the last of the brandy in his glass.

* * *

if I'm true to myself, nobody else  
can take the place of you  
but I've got to move on  
tell me what else can I do

* * *

They barely got the hotel room door closed before Jim was kissing Duncan - not the other way around, not this time - and attacking his clothing. Before they made it to the bed, many articles of clothing littered the floor, making a path like bread crumbs through a forest. They also managed to do most of the alpha-male things that Jim had been idly curious about, ever since he'd proposed this kind of union between them: fighting for some sort of dominance, albeit in a polite fashion, as befit a brand-new lover. Finally, the back of Jim's legs hit the bed and he went down, with Duncan on top of him, hands possessively grasping his wrists. He pushed up, to no effect; Duncan had him firmly pinned, and gave no sign of letting him go.

To his surprise, Jim found that he liked it. He stopped struggling against the hands that were holding him, and turned his head away from Duncan's questing mouth, to give himself a chance to breathe and restore a semblance of sanity. That was suddenly difficult to do, with lips pressed against his neck, biting as much as kissing him, with a knee pushing insistently between his thighs, with hands that gripped his wrists and wouldn't let him free. Jim tried to thrust up with any part of his body, but it was harder than it had ever been before in his life; it wasn't until he lay back against the bed, in defeat or perhaps silent plea, that Duncan let him go.

Cool air struck his overheated groin and Jim lifted up as Duncan stripped the clothing away from him, leaving him bereft and utterly vulnerable. Suddenly, now he wasn't being touched at all, just watched, naked, sweat-sheened skin raked over like fingertips by Duncan's dark eyes as he himself stripped at the end of the bed. Jim found himself scrambling backwards to find the headboard, to give himself a little space and equilibrium. Too soon, Duncan was crawling up the bed, on hands and knees, trapping him with nothing more than an avid mouth that kissed him and stripped him of thought and reserve and everything else but need.

It felt to Jim as though Duncan was somehow crawling _into_ him, breaking open his skin at different points where they touched and burrowing inside with his tongue or his fingers, clawing him like prey at the mercy of its hunter. His mind screamed out against such a thorough and ruthless possession, but his body was helpless and wanton, quickly being reminded of the myriad deprivations it had suffered since Blair had gone. His legs spread of their own volition and his cock was hard, drooling and ready for the suctioning warmth of Duncan's mouth, which drew him in and centred all sensation into the head, the base, the vein, the thick rush of blood and semen that flew from him. It felt as though he was _losing_ something when Duncan moved away, shifting position, and Jim lifted his thighs up and clutched at Duncan's waist with them, drawing him in where he needed to be.

Jim found that he had to close his eyes in order to breathe - it became impossible to see and feel and think and breathe, all at once, and he was unwilling to give up any of the others, so he shuttered his eyes and breathed and felt Duncan impel himself inside. His hands reached out into the darkness and caught on to Duncan, pulling him down into a kiss that seared away the very sharp edges of his need - at least until the next thrust came, and Jim realized that he was howling, screaming, crying out with it. It was shattering, breaking him down, and breaking down whatever had been the barrier between himself and the rest of the world, himself and Blair, himself and Duncan, and Methos, and everyone who hurt him and needed him and loved him. It felt _so_ hard, so much; he wanted it to stop and he didn't ever want it to stop.

Duncan held him and breathed air and come and saliva into him, filling his pores and his ass and his mouth and his throat and the rest of his body, until Jim realized that he was solid again, no longer a ghost.

* * *

I will love again  
one day I know, I will love again  
you can't stop me from loving again  
breathing again, feeling again  
I know, one day, I'll love again

* * *

It took a moment after he opened his eyes before Jim remembered where he was. There were no lights on in the room, but it didn't take long for his Sentinel-eyes to compensate. Turning his head, he found that Duncan was awake, pressed up against his back, arm hanging loosely over Jim's waist. "Thank you," he said, craning his head back into a kiss.

"I think that's my line, but you're welcome," Duncan said, rubbing his nose against the back of Jim's neck.

"I needed that," Jim said, and laughed when Duncan did, too. "Not just _that_ ," he clarified. "It was good to be held. It feels good not to be worried about someone. It's been - forever, I think."

"I know what you mean," Duncan said. At Jim's questioning glance, he sighed. "I felt - I felt as though you wanted me, not just that you were letting me be with you. That you wanted me here."

"You know, it's amazing that the two of us actually _fit_ in this bed, considering the amount of baggage we're dragging around with us."

"I've never been one for pretending not to notice the pink elephant in the centre of the room," Duncan agreed. "It never seemed to serve much purpose."

Jim turned over on his back, and then winced. "I think I pulled something."

Duncan's grin was extremely pleased-looking. "If you aren't sure, I have an idea what it might be."

"I think I can probably guess," Jim agreed, chuckling. "So, when are you going back to Seacouver?"

"I don't know," Duncan said. "I left it open-ended. I thought I'd see what your plans were, and go from there."

"Well, Simon will put a bullet in me if I go back to work before Monday," Jim mused. "I wonder what the room service is like in this hotel."

"Pretty good, I'd imagine," Duncan said. "You aren't hungry again already, are you?"

"No," Jim shook his head. "But I'm thinking if even if we do nothing but stay in bed for the next two days, we'll probably need to try it out once or twice."

"That sounds about right," Duncan agreed. He was on his side, head leaning on one arm, watching Jim; he trailed the fingers of his free hand over Jim's lips.

"Still glad you made me wait those three months?"

"Anticipation is a heady aphrodisiac."

"Ancient Chinese proverb?"

Duncan shook his head. "Nineteenth-century French courtesan."

"Did she teach you anything else along those lines?"

"As a matter of fact, she did," Duncan grinned. "More than enough for a weekend spent in bed."

"Good." Jim drew Duncan close, and kissed him very softly. "Thank you," he said, again.

"There you go, taking my line again," Duncan said, and then decided that it was time to stop talking altogether, for the foreseeable future.

The End  
MonaR.


End file.
